


Safe Night

by prettyredfox



Series: America the Beautiful [2]
Category: The Purge (Movies), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Gen, Injury, Language, Rude Inner Dialogue, Self Confidence Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:13:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25592584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyredfox/pseuds/prettyredfox
Summary: After last year's events, Mark and Ethan plan to have a safe, quiet night at home.  Well, as quiet as it can be on the night of America's Annual Purge.  As to be expected and because I'm a cruel person, things don't go as planned.  (I will absolutely, never get better at summaries)Purge meets my favorite Youtubers because why the hell not.  I highly suggest reading part one in the series, but I ain't your mom, so feel free to do whatever.
Series: America the Beautiful [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1854973
Comments: 16
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We're back! Aren't you so glad? Look, I'm starting the next part in a series and it hasn't even been a year since I've finished the last one! We love personal growth. ;) (P.S. this is part 2 in a series, so if you start with this one and you're confused-that's why)  
> Now, you know the drill-The Purge is a violent movie with a lot of things that could be potentially triggering for some. I'll update the warning tags as I go along, but if you ever want to message me and ask about a certain warning before you read it, please do.  
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated, look out for yourselves, you beautiful people.

That special time of year had once again rolled around and this year there was no way in  _ hell  _ that he was stepping outside his house. Not for anything. He’d been smart enough this time to ask off work and had already made his customary call to his mother that morning. This year Mark had also decided to add a call to Jack and the rest of his new friends to the usual routine, wishing them a safe night- demanding it, really. He’d spent a lot of time with them since getting out of the hospital and had grown super close to everybody. Close enough that Mark had  _ actually  _ considered going patrolling with them on the day of the Annual Purge. But in the end, he hated that sick, stomach-churning mix of fear and shame that came with violence. He survived last year, but barely and it was better not to press his “luck”. 

Having just gotten off the phone with a rambling Ross and an already annoyed Arin yelling at him in the background, Mark was in the kitchen fixing himself a sandwich when he heard the front door open. He paused, frowning in confusion and gripping the butterknife a little tighter, looking around for something sharper. “Hello?” He called out cautiously, because it was only the afternoon. The Annual Purge wouldn’t start for a few hours, yet.

“Hey Mark!” His friend and roommate (his only roommate since Tyler had moved out) called back, slamming the front door behind him as usual, and Mark gave a sigh of relief as he loosened the grip on his make-shift weapon. Ethan poked his head around into the kitchen, a wide grin already on his face as he gave a little wave. His brown hair was growing out from a recent buzzcut, already curling over his ears and he was working on a beard (it wasn’t going well). He was half-convinced that Ethan would always look like a teenager, though he  _ had  _ filled out a lot in the last year since they’d started working out together. 

“Ethan, what the hell are you doing here, man?” Mark asked, frowning in confusion. “You’re supposed to be at your parents.” Well, he’d  _ assumed  _ that he would be, because that was where his friend went every year. He couldn’t remember if he had actually texted Ethan to confirm, or not, but probably not. Texting people wasn’t his strong suit.

Ethan shrugged, shoulders bouncing nervously as he gave a slightly manic laugh-though most of his laughs had a manic edge to them. “Plans fell through this year. My dad’s been feeling under the weather lately and they’ve been trying to get some work done on the house, so they decided it’d be best if they went and stayed in a nice hotel for the night.” He jumped up on the counter, still grinning even as Mark narrowed his eyes at him for  _ placing his ass where they prepared food _ . “So, I figured that you and I could just hang out tonight! You know, make dinner, watch a movie and huddle up in a closet with a bat. Bro stuff.”

Mark snorted out a laugh, rolling his eyes as he turned back towards his sandwich, slicing it in half. “Yeah man. That sounds like a good plan. You know, it’ll actually be nice to have company this year.” He winced a little even as he said it, regretting tacking on the last sentence. Tyler and Ethan had felt bad enough when they’d found out he was in the hospital-and they still didn’t know the full story. (Mark had told as much as he could-in fractured parts that ended with him pretending he was too tired to continue.)

The answering laugh was stilted and weak, the sound of shoes hitting the kitchen floor following as Ethan jumped down off the counter. “Well, then! Let me know what you want for dinner and I’ll pick it up. We can make something or get takeout, I’m good with whatever.”

Mark frowned, turning to look at his friend. “What? No, you don’t have to go anywhere.” They still had roughly 3 hours until 7:00,  _ but…  _ “Didn’t you just get here? Why are you trying to leave again?”

Ethan gave an affectionate, pleased smile-the kind he gave when Mark said something sweet or gave him a compliment-and bumped their shoulders together. “We don’t have any food, man. Besides sandwich stuff, but I’m pretty sure you just used the last of the bread. And I was at work-had a half day shift. It’s cool, I don’t mind going out again.”

_ I mind! _ “We...I think we have a can of corn, or something.” He didn’t have a good excuse and Ethan was right-they didn’t have  _ food _ , food. Just condiments and a few cans of vegetables. “You can split my sandwich with me?”

“That’s actually really nice of you. And weird.” True. Mark was usually like a bulldog when it came to his food. “But you know that’s not going to fill us both up. We’re growing boys, Mark! It’ll only take, like, an hour. I’ll be back before you know it.” 

“What about delivery?”

“They usually stop sending delivery drivers out pretty early. Hey, how about that place we tried for your birthday? You liked that, right?”

_ No, no, no, what else? What else can I say without begging? _ “Yeah, that sounds good.” He heard himself say.

“You want the same thing you ordered last time?” Ethan asked, grabbing his house keys, opening the front door. 

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be back soon, okay? But you know what to do if I’m not back in time.” 

_ What the fuck?  _ His arm lashed out, grabbing Ethan around the bicep before he was able to step outside. “Don’t say that. You  _ better  _ be back with time to fucking spare.” Mark spat angrily (not really angry-scared-but anger was easier). 

Ethan took it well, as he always did when Mark got angry. He gave a final smile and patted the hand that was probably gripping his arm too tightly. Feeling his cheeks grow warm, Mark pulled his hand back and watched as his friend walked off the stoop, nearly tripping over his own feet. He went back inside and tried to calm his anxious stomach with his sandwich. It didn’t help but he ate it anyway. 

\---

_ “He’s fine, Ethan. See? He said so himself.” _

_ “He almost wasn’t Tyler! He almost fucking died and we weren’t there.”  _

Ethan Nestor was, according to a lot of people, a soft boi ( _ A bleeding heart, a cry baby, a weakling _ ). He’d heard it all and worse throughout the years and  _ yes _ ,  _ maybe  _ sometimes he overreacted or got too  _ emotional _ for what society deemed acceptable for a guy. But he was pretty damn sure that he wasn’t overreacting that day in the hospital when everyone else around him was treating his friend’s near death experience like  _ a no big deal _ . Sure, once a year everyone in America has the likelihood of getting violated in some way, shape, or form-but did that mean you were supposed to act like it was a normal occurrence? Should he have gone to see Mark in the hospital, joked around with him for a bit before just going home and _ pretending it didn’t happen _ ?

Well, call him fucking weak, because Ethan couldn’t do that. 

Mark had made new friends that seemed to know what he’d gone through, which Ethan was grateful for. They were cool, too-he’d met them a few times-but it also made him feel...unneeded, left out. _ You feel left out because your friend actually finds comfort in the people who helped rescue him. How shitty can you be?  _ Yeah, he felt like an asshole-he’d work on that. 

A couple days before March 17th, Ethan called his parents and let them know that he was staying home. They’d been confused and upset, but he’d talked them through it-reminding them of the neighborhood he lived in and that he wouldn’t be alone. Lying to Mark wasn’t his favorite thing, though he knew his friend wouldn’t have been pleased with the truth. Most likely, he would’ve seen it as babysitting and gotten pissed.  _ But it wasn’t _ . Ethan was getting dinner and then they were going to chill together like it was just any other guy’s night. 

He’d stayed a little later at the restaurant than he’d meant to (he may have stopped for ice cream at the supermarket, as well), but was  _ totally  _ still good on time. It unfortunately wasn’t until he was in line paying for the ice cream that he’d realized that he’d forgotten his phone-he didn’t even remember taking it out of his pocket back at the house.  _ Hopefully, Mark hasn’t tried texting me. He’s already going to be pissed. _ The time on his watch read 6:20 when he reached his neighborhood and he breathed a sigh of relief as he slowed his power-walking down to a more comfortable pace. Bags in hand, Ethan could see his house up the street-he was practically already there. 

Glancing over to one of the neighbor’s houses, his pace slowed even more until he was standing still on the sidewalk, staring in confusion. He knew this neighbor, she’d always been sweet and loved to chat and she had even come to visit Mark in the hospital several times with baked goods and casseroles. Mrs. Wendell’s front door was hanging wide open and her small dog, that she usually only kept inside, was wandering the flower garden by himself. 

Ethan glanced at his watch again, 6:24, then looked back at the open door.  _ I’ve got time. I’ll just peek inside and make sure she’s okay. _ He approached the house, stopping to pick up the dog, a teacup poodle named Bodie, and tuck him close to his chest. He knocked on the door, the sound echoing through the house as he looked around. “Mrs. Wendell? Are you here?” A dumb question, because where else would she be, but he suddenly felt anxious in the silent home. A few of the lights were on, but most of them weren’t, leaving the hallway by the stairs and the living room to the right of the entryway dark. 

Nobody answered him. 

A million alarm bells went off in his head, his hands nervously petting the animal as it squirmed in his arms, wanting to be let down. “Mrs. Wendell?” He called out again, more quietly, voice cracking.  _ Baby. Chickenshit. It’s not even seven, yet, why are you acting so scared?  _ He didn’t know, really. Setting his food by the door, he made his way further into the house, moving cautiously. 

The kitchen was lit by the light above the stove, a big pot of something boiling over on the burner. After much deliberation on whether or not to leave it on, Ethan turned the heat to the  _ keep warm _ setting. The room smelled of warm soup and spices, but besides the food and a couple dishes in the sink, there was nothing in the kitchen. The same situation in the living room. It took a bit of stumbling in the dark, freaked out by the possibility of what could be hiding there, but he finally found a lamp. Nothing. 

The upstairs were the next place to try. He stared up the dark stairs, shadows moving on the landing as his mind made up a thousand different reasons why he should leave. But one very good reason prevented him from turning back. Mrs. Wendell was an older lady and while he hadn’t noticed any health issues, anything could’ve happened to her. She could have fallen, or had a heart attack. The thought of that sweet old lady laying alone and hurt somewhere in the dark propelled him up the stairs, Bodie digging his nails into Ethan’s chest like he was afraid of being dropped. 

There wasn’t a light at the top of the stairs and Ethan wasn’t sure whether the soothing sounds coming out of his mouth were intended for the dog or himself. “Mrs. Wendell, can you hear me? It’s Ethan Nestor from up the road.” He listened intently for any sort of sound-a whimper, a cry for help, some kind of movement-but there still wasn’t anything. He glanced down at his watch, tapping it to make the screen light up. 6:41. Mark was going to fucking kill him. 

With his eyes finally adjusted enough, he found the next lightswitch in a bedroom, the glow extending out into the hall. 

This time when the dog started wriggling, he let it go, arms falling limply to his sides as the animal landed on all fours and took off down the hall. Mrs. Wendell was on her belly on the floor next to her bed, the quilt and decorative pillows torn off the mattress and splattered with red. He stared in horror, sure that she was dead until he saw her chest sink in slightly, then rise as she took shallow breaths. Ethan dropped onto the floor next to her and hesitantly reached out to roll her over. She was pale, ghastly pale and the brightly applied blush on her cheeks paired with her tone made her look like a cadaver. The blood on the bedding had obviously come from the prominent gash on her temple, the wound still glistening even as the edges had started to congeal. 

“Mrs. Wendell.” He said quietly, unsure what to do, how to help her. Did she fall and hit her head? If so, then how did her front door end up wide open when she was upstairs? He looked at his watch. 6:49. It was too late. Too late to call an ambulance because they wouldn’t come.  _ Fuck. Oh fuck.  _ He put a hand over his chest, trying to calm himself as his breathing began to pick up erratically.  _ Fuck, I wish Mark was here. He’d know what to do.  _ There was an idea. Maybe he could go get Mark. He certainly couldn’t bring Mrs. Wendell to  _ him _ . 

There was a sound on the stairs. 

He stopped breathing, the air caught in his lungs as he strained to hear over the pounding of his heart. It  _ could  _ be Bodie, right? That made more sense than someone waiting in the dark, hiding somewhere while Ethan walked around looking for Mrs. Wendell. _ It’s not even seven, yet!  _ There was another low, groaning creak, the sound of a wooden step taking someone’s weight. It was too slow and methodical to be the dog’s (not to mention the dog weighed, like, a pound).  _ Should I hide? Close and lock the door? Does her bedroom door even have a lock on it?  _ Most people did in this day and age, but he didn’t know. 

There was another foreboding creak and whoever they were, they had to almost be at the top of the stairs now. Ethan couldn’t move. His body was tense with fear and panic, eyes trained on the open door and the short-stretch of the hallway beyond.  _ Move. You have to do something, idiot.  _ He sprung to his feet, feeling stiff and slow as he made for the door, nearly tripping over himself. Just as he reached it, a shape shrouded by darkness appeared, feet away from him. He grabbed the door and slammed it shut, someone ramming against it a half second after he clicked down the lock on the door knob and he fell back with a yelp. The banging continued, loud and angry as Ethan shrank back from the door, glancing on impulse down at his watch. 6:54, oh god he was  _ fucked _ . The whole door rattled in it’s frame before it went suspiciously quiet. When the banging started back again, it was sharper, more of a thunk as it got stuck in the wood.  _ An axe.  _ The man had an axe. 

He looked down at his elderly neighbor, then back at the door as it splintered and cracked open, the axe making steady headway through it.  _ I should’ve listened to Mark.  _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how it is. Violence coming in strong this chapter and it ain't likely to slow down. ;) Take care of yourselves.

Mark spent a lot of time pacing around and checking his watch, waiting for Ethan to get back. He tried to find other things to occupy his mind, but he wasn’t really big on watching Tv and he was currently too  _ fidgety  _ to focus on reading. Settling on a mindless game on his phone worked for a bit, but once it got closer to six, the anxiety started to set in worse than before. It wasn’t long after that he started texting Ethan, asking him where he was. When those failed to get a response and with the time encroaching on forty minutes until seven, his texts escalated to threats and name calling (he wasn’t proud of it, but again, anger and annoyance was an easier emotion to handle). Mark soon after began calling, though he refused to leave a voicemail because he wasn’t sure what words would come out ( _ Please, please, please Ethan, pick up-answer your goddamn phone _ ). 

When he was down to twenty-five minutes left on the ever looming countdown to a sinner’s paradise, he admittedly may have started to panic. It was also near that time that his pacing extended to the kitchen. And there he caught sight of something on the counter that really  _ shouldn’t fucking be there _ . Ethan’s phone. Right where he’d  _ sat his ass down _ earlier and it must’ve fallen out of his back pocket. 

Mark picked it up and looked down at the screen to see all of the text and phone notifications he’d been leaving. A sick feeling rolled through his gut, nearly bringing him to his knees.  _ Not again.  _ Ethan was out there alone.  _ Maybe he’s just running late? Really, stupid fucking late.  _ He didn’t know that. Anything could have happened to him, because while the Purge had brought the crime rate down (according to the government), it didn’t mean that crime was nonexistent outside of those 12 hours. 

_ Or that someone won’t delay you getting home so you’ll be an easy target _ . He remembered that man who’d knocked him unconscious-his nasty grin and the glint of his knife. Because of that man, Mark had experienced one of the worst nights of his life. Ethan’s easy smile and sensitive personality could be smothered, snuffed out by one person’s bloodlust.  _ Fuck that _ . 

The thought of someone hurting him made his fists clench and his body vibrate. Ethan was one of his best friends-he’d  _ always  _ been there for Mark. His mind flashed back to all those times he’d pushed him away this past year, all the hurt looks and stilted laughter. It’d been admittedly easier to hang out with Jack and the other guys. They all knew what he’d gone through-what Mark had done to survive. He didn’t want Ethan to know that side of him and while he’d never pushed Mark to talk, the incident was still there-leaving a dark chasm of unsaid pain in between them. Even if he didn’t want it to be, it was a part of who Mark was now-a part that Ethan didn’t know.  _ Fat load of good that did either of us _ . 

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and brought up Jack’s number.  _ Guess I’ll be going out this year, afterall _ . 

\---

They were already loaded up in the vans (repaired ones, since they’d gotten pretty well-fucked last year) and preparing to drive into the city. A new apartment complex had just opened-and filled-up in the last couple months and according to the word on the street, it had a lot of lower income families living there without even the security of a deadbolt on their front doors. It was fortunately close to the heart of town, so they planned to park in one of the alleys nearby and wait. 

Jack sat in the front passenger seat-Felix behind the wheel and Ross in the back. Arin claimed that for his own sanity (and everyone’s safety), Ross needed to be in a different vehicle tonight. To be fair, Ross  _ was  _ in a rare mood where every comment made-by everyone who wasn’t him- was picked at and criticized. So they were stuck with a cranky Ross while Arin and Dan got to drive by themselves in the second van. 

Ken had decided to “retire” and finally marry the girl he’d been dating seriously for what felt like forever and while he would miss his sharpshooter, Jack was mostly just happy for him. Last year had been rough (more so than the usual) and he wouldn’t fault any of his friends for not going on patrol ever again. 

Felix had just started the van, the engine roaring to life as Ross immediately began to complain about the music, when his phone started ringing. Digging into his pocket, Jack held up the screen to see an incoming call from Mark. “Shut the hell up, Ross.” He snapped, turning the radio off as he answered. “Mark?”

“Jack, I need your help.” Mark said, his voice cracking with emotion halfway through his sentence. Jack was instantly worried. After getting to know the guy, he wasn’t the type to overreact and there was legit fear in his voice. He took a quick look at the clock on the dashboard-6:43. 

“Yeah! Yeah, of course, Mark, anything. You stuck somewhere? Need a ride?” Felix was waiting, tense and ready behind the wheel-even Ross was blessedly quiet as he listened closely to the conversation, his fingers dug into the back of Jack’s seat. There was an impatient honk behind them, Arin and Dan not understanding why they were just sitting in the driveway while the time ticked down. Felix rolled down his window and put up a finger-his pointer one, because the other one would only make everything louder. 

“No, it’s my friend, Ethan.” -Deep breaths, a curse word muttered through clenched teeth as the attempt to calm down was unsuccessful- “He went out to get dinner almost three hours ago and he’s not back, yet. He walked but still, he should’ve...the idiot left his phone, too.”

Jack remembered Ethan, they’d met a few times before-the first being at the hospital. He was a smaller dude (well, about his and Mark’s size, but he wasn’t as delusional as Mark was to think that they weren’t a  _ little  _ on the short side) who handed out smiles like candy. He was young, hyper and had animated eyes-quick to laugh and easy-to-read emotions. Jack and his crew had liked him almost immediately when Ethan and the other guy ( _ Tyler? _ ) had approached them in the hospital. Both guys had thanked them for keeping Mark safe, but where Tyler had left soon after, Ethan stayed. In that week Mark had spent in the hospital healing, there wasn’t a time that Ethan wasn’t around, keeping Mark company, dropping coffee off to Jack or Arin while they were waiting for Ross and Dan to be released. “You’ve told me before that he’s got the attention span of a flea. Maybe he just got sidetracked. I’m sure he’s fine, Mark.” He said calmly, trying to keep Mark’s panic level down. 

“But”-

“We’re driving to your house, okay? By the time we get there, it’ll be seven, so if he’s not back by then, we’ll retrace his steps. I promise you, we’ll look all night if we have to, but we’re going to find him.” It was what he did, afterall. What was the point of patrolling every year if he couldn’t keep his friends safe? And while him and Ethan didn’t know each other  _ super  _ well, the fact that Mark cared about him so much was enough for him. 

Felix motioned behind him and Ross jumped out of the van to go tell Arin and Dan what the new plan was. 

“I’m sorry.” Mark was saying, sounding both relieved and guilty. “I know you had a plan all ready for tonight, but it's-well, I mean...it’s  _ Ethan _ , dude. He carries bugs outside so I don’t kill them and avoids stepping on wildflowers.”

“I know. I know-don’t you worry about our plan. This takes precedence, dude. We’re on our way.” And as soon as Ross jumped back in the vehicle, they were. 

\---

_ How long is it supposed to take to beat down a door with an axe?  _ Ethan thought in a numb panic while trying to push the rusted, bedroom window up. He didn’t know, but it was taking, surprisingly, a lot longer than he thought. Finally, with the veins in his arms bulging and his muscles straining, he was able to lift the window up enough to slide through. It gave a loud, awful squeal of protest that he hoped couldn’t be heard over the sound of the axe obliterating the door. He looked outside, dusk having turned to night at some point and the ground a fair distance away. They were on the second floor, of course, but there was enough roof space under the windowsill for him to climb out on and hopefully lower himself into the grass without breaking his ankles.  _ What do you plan to do with her, idiot? _ As if in response to his inner monologue, Mrs. Wendell gave a weak groan from behind him. 

The door shuddered with every swing of the axe, a sizable gash now forming as slivers of wood and paint rained down onto the carpet. He had under a minute before whoever that was could fit their arm in enough to reach the knob. _ I can make it out. I can get out, run, be home just at seven. _ He hung halfway out of the open window, shivering in the March, evening chill.  _ I can make it! _

Slowly, he pulled himself back inside, forcing his fingers to let go of their hold-poised as they were-to haul himself out and over to freedom.  _ Coward. Stupid, pathetic, coward.  _ He knew he was for even thinking about leaving the poor, injured woman unconscious on the floor. He turned his attention to searching for a weapon. Scrambling madly, he dived under the bed, looking for a gun, a bat, anything. When that turned up nothing, he turned towards the closet. The door was open and above the brightly colored clothes, up on the shelf, was a box.  _ Bet that’s where she keeps a gun _ -because everyone kept a gun, or  _ something _ . 

The banging stopped and was thereby followed by the horrible sound of the door knob turning. 

He ran for it, hauling ass across the room and he’d almost made it to the closet, fingertips catching on a garishly, hot pink shawl, before a large force was slamming into him from behind, following his descent down. The landing knocked the breath out of him, his mouth filling with blood and his face burning from where it’d dragged across the carpet. Trying to crawl out from under the person on top of him got him nowhere as his head was immediately shoved back into the floor. 

“Who the hell are you?” A voice snarled right next to his ear, a rough hand gripping his hair. He couldn’t answer, the fear catching in his throat like bile. The hand shook his head and he yelped on instinct. “What the  _ fuck _ ? You a good samaritan or something? Answer me!”

“Yes!” Ethan wheezed, swallowing around the blood in his mouth-he must’ve bitten his tongue on the way down. “I-I was just checking on her!”

“Well, that fucking sucks for you, don’t it?” The man slammed his head back down as he got up, following it up with a sharp kick to his ribs that kept him from leaping to his feet and making another mad dash for the gun. He couldn’t help the low whine of pain as he curled onto his side, gripping his middle. “I was just going to off this rich bitch and take her money, but since you’re here, might as well off you, too.” 

A loud siren rang out and Ethan’s watch started chiming and all across the nation, families were listening to the national broadcast. “This is not a test. This is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of the Annual Purge sanctioned by the U.S. Government. Weapons of class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the Purge. All other weapons are restricted. Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity from the Purge and shall not be harmed. Commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours. Police, fire, and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning until 7 a.m., when The Purge concludes. Blessed be our New Founding Fathers and America, a nation reborn. May God be with you all."

7 o’clock. This year’s Purge had begun. 

“Perfect timing. You probably should’ve gone for help while you had the chance. Not that anyone would’ve come out of their comfy, little home to help you.” 

Opening his eyes into slits, vision blurred, Ethan could just make out his aggressor. He was a white male, maybe in his late forties-tall, slightly muscled, but mostly very skinny. His long, muddy, brown hair was swept back into a messy ponytail and his eyes were bruised and dark from lack of sleep. He didn’t wear a mask or have his face painted. In fact, his apparel was fairly normal. Dark blue hoodie, jeans and tennis shoes. The only thing that made him stand apart from someone you would see in a grocery store was the fingerless-gloved hand wrapped around the handle of a well-loved axe. 

“Why are you doing this?” Ethan managed to croak, thoughts on the nice woman lying unconscious across the room. She’d bled so much and from the size of the gash on her head, he must have hit her hard. Who could do that to someone? “Mrs. Wendell is only rich because her husband died,  _ you asshole _ .” He got another swift kick to the chest and he wasn’t sure if it was worth it, but his proverbial word-vomit was kicking in. Pun intended.

“ _ Why _ ? You have no idea. None! You probably think she’s just some sweet old woman- probably brings you fucking casserole and grandma shit, right? This bitch right here is my dear, sweet mother. And  _ yeah _ , I know her husband died.  _ Piece of shit _ left her  _ everything _ . Looked down on me like I was  _ garbage _ .” He sneered, his hateful gaze on Mrs. Wendell. She’d started to groan and twitch more, like she was about to wake up and Ethan-while he was happy that she might be okay-really wanted her to stop drawing attention to herself. 

“You’re doing this to your own mom?” He was stalling (What for, he didn’t fucking know. There would be no help for him), but he also couldn’t quite grasp what made a person do this.  _ To their own mother _ . He’d yelled at his mom once in high school and had felt bad about it  _ for weeks _ . Shit, he  _ still  _ felt bad about it. “Because of money?”

The man’s full ire was back on him, his fingers gripping the axe so tight, his knuckles were the color of bone. “You don’t know what I’ve gone through, you shit. Bet you got a nice family, right? Calls and asks how you are, makes sure you have a place to sleep?” 

He did. He really did, but even if he didn’t, Ethan couldn’t imagine hurting someone-especially not family. But… thinking back to Mark’s face when they’d gotten to the hospital-the way he’d looked when he’d finally admitted only a  _ few  _ of the things he’d been forced to do to survive-maybe that violence was in everyone. Desperation, pain, anger, any of these things could push a person to do things they wouldn’t normally do.  _ Weren’t you just trying to find a weapon? What did you think would happen once you actually got one?  _ Well, he hadn’t planned on killing the guy, but then again, he hadn’t really been planning much, at all.  _ Could  _ he hurt someone? To save himself, to save Mrs. Wendell?

When the man turned intently towards her, raising his weapon, he answered his own question. 

Pushing to his feet, ribs throbbing in retaliation, Ethan lurched forward. He was pretty fast, and he’d been working out lately with Mark.  _ Let’s put those reps to the test _ . With the man’s back still to him, he did what all the super cool heroes (and totally, not scared, fully grown adults) do in movies and leapt up onto the guys back, wrapping his legs around him for leverage. The guy yelled out in what was hopefully fear and shock, but was most likely just a whole lot of confusion and Ethan did the next manly thing he could think of by grabbing him by his greasy ponytail and giving it a good yank. 

“You little shit!” He growled, sounding thoroughly annoyed as he tried to swing the weapon backwards. It didn’t work well-the angle stopped him from getting enough power behind the blow to actually maim-but it did catch Ethan on the arm, the dullened blade leaving stinging, bleeding cuts.  _ Don’t you dare let go! _ His brain screamed at him and so he gritted his teeth and tugged harder, until the man’s head was tilted all the way back, exposing a long line of neck. 

_ I don’t want to, oh fuck, please, I don’t want to!  _ Wrapping his forearm around his neck, he started squeezing, letting go of the guy’s hair so he could grip his wrist and keep the pressure tight. If he did it fast, choked the guy unconscious, maybe he wouldn’t have to kill him. There was an awful wheezing sound, the muscle beneath his arm decompressing and Ethan almost let go, disgusted by the situation-by himself. There was a thump, the guy dropping his axe to reach up and dig his nails into Ethan’s arm, tugging and scratching. “I’m sorry.” He whimpered, clenching tighter. “I’m so sorry.” He didn’t let up, arms shaking from the exertion and finally, the man dropped to his knees, the motion nearly knocking Ethan loose. 

There was a sound on the stairs. He nearly missed it over the sound of the ringing in his ears, the harsh sounds of choking. The man fell forwards onto his stomach, face down on the carpet-unconscious,hopefully-and Ethan disregarded the unknown sound on the stairs in favor of rolling him onto his back to check for a pulse. There were already purpling bruises on his neck and the sight of them made Ethan’s stomach clench and swallow back a sob. But he found a pulse-slow and weak under his fingers, but present, nonetheless.  _ Holy fuck.  _ He let out a shaky sigh of relief, slumping as his sore muscles lost some of their previous tension. 

“Wow, you did a number on him.” A girly voice said behind him and his head snapped up in shock. He didn’t get a chance to see much before the butt end of a shotgun was slamming into his forehead, but he did see two figures in masks before he hit the floor.  _ I really, really should’ve listened to Mark.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this might feel a little rushed to get to the action and maybe it is-I literally can't seem to help myself. I've been trying to slow down for years, but I can't get rid of the nasty habit of rushing everything I write. Any who, I know I didn't give many deets about Ken, but it is what it is. He's happy and doing his own thing and the rest of our poor babies are going to go through some shit because I'm an asshole.  
> To all that read and leave comments or a kudos-I thank you. Until next time, friends.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't proof read this as much as I could have, but I hope it's still decent, at least. I'm having a great time writing it! Thank you to everyone who's left me kudos or a nice comment-I really appreciate it.
> 
> Also, quick disclaimer: All of the negative thoughts Mark and Ethan have about being cowards-or anything Mark thinks about in relation to the previous Purge-they're not a reflection of how I feel. I'm only channeling how they might would feel, or how I personally think they'd feel. 
> 
> Another disclaimer: I love all my boys, honestly. I just like to hurt them a little? Just in writing.

About the time that Mark was climbing into the van with Jack, Felix, and Ross, just a few houses down, Ethan was getting nailed in the head with a shotgun. Unbeknownst to both parties as Mark directed them to the restaurant his friend had walked to hours before, they passed right by Mrs. Wendell’s house without a backwards glance. 

When Ethan woke up, he was zip tied to a dining room chair and there was a girl in his lap, slapping him on the cheek with the flat side of a kitchen knife. He jerked back with a strangled protest, but had nowhere to go and she giggled, pleased by his panicked reaction. She wore a stark white, baby-faced mask with diy-ed cracks drawn on to imitate the look of a broken doll. Her hair was straw-blonde, braided into pig-tails and she had on an all white dress. She also couldn’t be less than sixteen/seventeen, which made her attire all the more strange. 

“Look who’s awake.” She taunted, like she hadn’t been the one to both knock him out and wake him up. “No worries, you’ve only been out for a few minutes. Wouldn’t want you to sleep through all the fun.”

_ Yeah, that would be a shame _ . “Where-where’s Mrs. Wendell?” He stuttered, trying to breathe shallowly through his mouth. Her breath reeked of onions, weirdly enough, and the knock to the head already had him nauseous. She started kicking her feet back and forth, childishly, but the pain it stirred up in his ribs was lost on him when he caught sight of her shoes. Crocs. Ethan had been knocked out by a girl in red, white, and blue Crocs.  _ God bless America _ . 

Shrugging indifferently, the girl finally got off of him, carelessly swinging her blade around as she pointed up at the ceiling. “Daddy has her and that guy upstairs, still.”  _ She’s doing this with her dad? What the fuck?  _ Her eyes fell back on him, glimmering with excitement through the eye holes of the mask. “You really did a number on him, by the way. It was impressive. I’ve always wanted to try strangling someone, but Daddy said it takes too much time and you have to squeeze really hard.” 

His stomach twisted and he clenched his teeth together, remembering the way it felt to have someone fighting for breath against him.  _ You’ll have to do a lot more if you want to survive tonight _ , someone that sounded like Mark said in his mind. “Just let us go.” He said quietly, fighting not to cry, not to scream and beg to go home. “Mrs. Wendell is a nice lady, she doesn’t deserve this. I’m sure she has money or  _ something  _ around the house if you want it-you don’t have to”-

“You poor thing.” The mirth in her eyes was gone, replaced by cold, hardened steel. She walked back over to him and he flinched as she plopped herself down into his lap again, stroking his hair with pink-painted fingernails. “You’ve never actually experienced a Purge, have you?” He frowned in confusion, opening his mouth to- “I mean,  _ really  _ experienced it-not just sat at home, safe and cozy.  _ Boring _ .” His mouth snapped closed again-because she was right, he’d never been in  _ actual  _ danger before-never been caught outside and seen what U.S. citizens  _ really  _ got up to when there weren’t any consequences to face afterwards. His family wasn’t rich, by any means, but they had decent defenses and lived in a nice place, with few people. As a kid, he’d been scared, used to hide in his closet and his parents would find him there, asleep, the next morning. Over the years, he lost that fear (not all of it-he wasn’t an idiot) because he was always  _ safe _ , with friends or family. Ethan had never felt so alone than he did right now-tied to a chair with a possible maniac scratching her nails over his scalp like his mother used to do to help him go to sleep. “What’s your name?” She asked quietly, leaning into his chest.

“Ethan.” He answered, fighting his body’s natural desire to tremble. It didn’t matter if she knew just his first name, right? He was already here. “Just let us go.”

She laughed, the sound sudden and sharp like a breaking glass as she dug her fingers into his scalp. “That’s not how this works, Ethan darling.”

\---

Ethan was not at the restaurant. Mark hadn’t really expected him to be, and yet, the sudden, overwhelming emotion he felt when they rolled up to see the dark, locked up building still had him grabbing his chest and struggling to keep breathing. He’d kept his eyes open and the window cracked on the drive there-not wanting to miss any chance of catching his friend crying out from a passing alley or hear some kind of sign of violence that would lead them to him. No dice. The only excitement of the night so far had been a group of people they’d passed looting an electronics store. It’d been surprisingly quiet, otherwise. 

“We’ll keep looking. Drive slower on the route he would’ve taken back.” Jack said, driving a few blocks down past the restaurant before using an alley to turn around in. Mark knew what he was trying to do-and appreciated it-but nothing would calm his nerves until he had Ethan’s dumbass back at home. 

_ I shouldn’t have let him go. Why didn’t I go with him, at least? I’m such a fucking coward.  _

“We’re going to keep searching farther down-maybe get out and look further down a few nearby alleys.” Arin said over the radio before Jack could ask why their van wasn’t following them back.  _ Fuck. Why didn’t I try to get out and search? Why didn’t I even  _ **_think_ ** _ to do it?  _

“Roger that, good idea. Stay safe and keep us updated.” Jack was glancing worriedly over at him and the guys in the back had hardly spoken at all since he’d gotten into the vehicle (and that had been limited to Felix telling Mark to take the front seat). 

_ They know you’re losing it. _ Mark took a few deep, slow breaths, trying to clear some of the frantic energy coursing through him. He could do this. He  _ would  _ do this. Things wouldn’t go down for him like they had last year, because no matter what happened, he knew he wouldn’t be alone. That had been the worst part-having no hope of rescue, thinking (knowing) he was going to die alone. Ethan was out there somewhere, probably thinking the same thing. _ Fuck that _ . He was sick of the nightmares and the panic attacks-sick of holding all the fear and disgust in his chest until he couldn’t even talk to his best friend anymore. 

“You got any extra weapons, Jack?” Being passive had never gotten him anywhere, anyways. 

\---

“Where is everyone tonight?” Dan asked, almost absentmindedly as they were doing a careful recon in the alley behind a donut shop. The streets were damn near deserted and it was past 6:30. 

“Maybe people are finally getting tired of being awful.” Arin replied back, lips twitching, because,  _ yeah right _ . Dan answered his obvious joke with an amused scoff, about to take a corner around the dumpsters. Arin cleanly stepped in front of him, taking the risk without a second thought. He was trying not to make it obvious, but the impulse to be on his friend’s ass, guarding him, was going to be hard to fight tonight. Last year, his best friend in the  _ world  _ had been shot and while it hadn’t been life-threatening, it damn well could’ve been. And he knew for a fact that it’d been his fucking fault. Did that make him overly protective? Possibly. What did that even mean nowadays? 

If Dan noticed the way Arin put himself in position to take whatever danger was tossed their way, he didn’t mention it. 

“You think most of the action is at that apartment complex we’d planned to camp out?” 

Arin frowned, checking between the dumpsters before signalling the all clear. They started heading back towards the van parked a little ways up the alley, Arin taking point with his gun trained down by his side. “I hope not. The thought has crossed my mind.” They didn’t know the kid that well, but he did know that they all had the same drive to find him. He was young and caring and innocent-all according to Mark-and that was just what they’d all set out to protect a few years ago when they’d originally come together. But what would be the cost of running around searching for one person when hundreds of others were possibly in danger? “Most likely, that’s where some went to do damage, but I doubt everyone went there. This is strange, though.”

Just as he reached the van, ducking down to climb into the seat, Arin caught sight of a shadow moving across the mouth of the alley. He froze for a second before backing out of the open door, watching for movement until Dan was safely buckled in with his door locked. Dan looked over to the driver’s seat to say something, frowning when he noticed that Arin hadn’t gotten in, yet and was just standing outside the open car door. “What are you doing, man?”

“I saw something. You stay here, I’m going to check it out.” 

Every hair on his body seemed to stand straight up and he was shaking his wild curls in the negative before he’d even opened his mouth. “No. Hell no. Dude, why would you even?”

“It could be Ethan, or something. I’ve got to check.”

“The fuck? Why would it be Ethan? He knows us, dude, don’t you think that if it was him, he’d come up to us?”

“Just stay here, okay? I won’t go far.”

“Don’t you even think about it, Arin Hanson, get your ass in the van! I’m not kidding.” 

Because he wasn’t an asshole and didn’t want his friend stranded on the off chance that something happened to him, Arin tossed the keys down onto the front seat and manually locked his door before closing it. Dan’s yelling was abruptly cut off through the thick, bulletproof glass and Arin felt a ping of regret as he started moving through the alley.  _ Please just stay in the van, this time _ . Hand tightening around his firearm, he walked carefully, avoiding glass and empty cans until he was stepping out of the alley, glancing around in both directions. The street was clear and he let out the air he’d been holding. Then his eyes picked up something moving in the middle of the road. A little toy robot twitched and lit up jerkily, it’s batteries most likely dying. There was a note taped to its head. 

Instead of walking over and reading the note like a dumbass, Arin slowly backed up, watching for any movement, throwing cautious looks over his shoulder in case someone was attempting an ambush from behind. He was almost to the van when a small shape appeared in front of him-frankly, scaring the shit out of him-their form silhouetted by the streetlight. “You didn’t fall for my trap.” A young boy said, arms crossed over his chest as he pouted. “It was a good trap.”

Arin stopped, lowering his gun as his instincts waged a war in his mind. “What are you doing here, kid?” The boy couldn’t have been more than twelve or so and while a part of him wanted to grab him and get him to the safety of the van, the other part was telling him to get behind the wheel and run him over if he didn’t get the fuck out of the way. 

“Why didn’t you fall for it?” 

God, he was sure that Dan was losing his goddamn mind watching Arin stand here like an idiot. He was pretty pissed at himself when he heard the crunch of glass come from behind him and remembered that he was supposed to be keeping an eye out for that ambush. A strong, clawed hand came up, attempting to wrap around his throat and it was only thanks to his instincts that he was able to duck away from the grip in time and turn to face his aggressor. A beast of a woman stood in front of him, well-muscled and surprisingly tall with an expensive looking kevlar vest covering her torso. In one hand she had a serrated hunting knife and the other-the one that’d tried to grab him-was wearing a heavy duty glove with what looked like small, silver nails attached to it.  _ Someone’s seen Catwoman a few too many times _ . 

“Mom, he didn’t fall for my trap!” The boy whined from behind him and he heard the sound of the van door creaking open as Dan inevitably jumped out to help.  _ Shit _ . 

“That’s okay, baby.” The woman answered back in a gruff voice, smirking at him-thankfully ignoring Dan for the moment. “That just means I’ll have a little bit of a challenge tonight.” She swiped out with both hands, aiming for his gut almost playfully and he threw himself backwards to avoid getting disemboweled. 

“Hey!” Dan called out from where he was ducked down on the passenger side of the van, using the hood for cover. He had his handgun aimed at the woman’s head and a surprisingly, threatening look on his face. “Get the hell away from him before I blow the back of your skull out, bitch.” If Arin didn’t know his friend as well as he did, he would’ve believed him, but he knew that if Dan could help it-he’d aim somewhere non-lethal first. 

“Momma!” The kid cried out in concern, sounding much closer behind him than he remembered him being. Arin risked a quick glance over his shoulder to see the kid wielding a pocket knife and definitely a lot closer. 

Personally, he wasn’t eager to kill a kid or his deranged mother and he knew Dan wouldn’t be either. “What do you want?” He asked, trying to keep an eye on the both of them-sure he was about to feel the sharp, cutting pain of a knife slicing into him at any moment, now. “Money? Weapons?”

The woman stared at him, obviously confused and wary. “What the hell do you mean?”

“I mean, this doesn’t have to end with violence. Tell me what you guys want.” 

“Fuck you.” She snarled and gave a sloppy swing of her blade, eyes filled with mistrust and anger. 

He sidestepped it, glancing again over his shoulder to make sure the kid didn’t get any bright ideas while his mother was ensuring a distraction. “No, honestly! Look, is it guns? Do you need a weapon? I’m pretty sure that if you had a gun, you would’ve shot me already. I don’t have too much cash in my wallet, but I think I’ve got a few twenties. Dan? Whatcha got?”

“Thirty eight dollars. And I know you’re going to try and make some kind of joke about me being Jewish and knowing the exact amount of money I have in my wallet, but I’d like to remind  _ you  _ that I have my gun out.”

“Dan, I would  _ never _ .” He laughed-honestly, he didn’t joke much about Dan being Jewish, but he knew that his friend was trying to lighten the mood. The woman looked so  _ terribly  _ confused and he didn’t blame her. If the situations were reversed, he would’ve been confused, as well. 

Her eyes flickered over Arin’s shoulder and he hoped that it would help her pick the more peaceful option and that it was  _ not  _ because her son was about to stab him in the kidney. “Fine. Give me all your money.”

“Done.”

“And your weapons.”

“Well...that one we might have to negotiate on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ^^ Thanks to all who've made it this far! I'll see you next time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ^^Thank you to everyone who's left comments or kudos-I appreciate you. Some self-depreciating thoughts all around in this chapter as well as gore and violence. Please forgive any grammar or spelling mistakes or just bad writing-after rereading it for the tenth time, I swear everything looks great.

An awful, gurgling scream came from upstairs and Ethan’s breath caught in his throat, heart thundering like it was trying to break its way out of his chest. It took an achingly long couple of seconds to realize that it was the man screaming, not Mrs. Wendell, and he felt hot shame burning his eyes even as he released an involuntary sigh of relief. The girl’s eyes narrowed into peeved slits and she stomped off towards the stairs. “He’s not supposed to do anything without me.” She grumbled unhappily, disappearing around the corner and he could hear her feet stomping up the stairs. 

He sat there for a minute, useless as he took a couple of deep breaths and let a few tears fall. 

Then he started wriggling. Luckily-and he never thought he’d say it-but Mark’s insatiable appetite to know and be good at everything, was coming in clutch. A few weeks after he’d gotten out of the hospital, Mark had made Ethan tie his arms behind his back with any and everything he could think of and had found his eventual way out of all of it. From zip ties, to rope, to duct tape-he’d strained and twisted until his face was red and his wrists were raw and he hadn’t let Ethan help him even once(Ethan had, in fact, had to leave the room because the sight of Mark struggling and hurting and Ethan not being able to help him got to be too much real fucking quick). And then, when he’d figured out how to do it, he’d forced Ethan to learn-though he was a lot nicer to Ethan about it than he’d been with himself, which was nothing new. 

Gritting his teeth, he pushed his wrists together, as close to his body as possible through the chair back, and then yanked them apart-hard. It took him four tries, but then there was the pleasing snap of plastic and he was mostly free. He leaned down to release his legs next, slipping off his shoes so he could work his jeans out of the loose tie. Thank god he’d actually paid attention for once. After a careful minute or two, Ethan stood up, back in his tennis shoes and zip tie free.  _ Now what _ ? 

He had to get out, but what about Mrs. Wendell? He would have to come back for her after he somehow convinced Mark to help.  _ You can’t even solve your own problems. You’re useless _ . Creeping down the hall towards the front door, he passed the cold, forgotten food he’d set down in the entryway. It hadn’t been that long ago that he’d been walking home and a selfish part of him wished that he hadn’t stopped to check on his elderly neighbor. What good had he done, anyways?

Opening the front door, slowly, quietly, focused on the stairs and listening for any signs that they’d heard him, Ethan failed to check that the outside was clear. He ran smack into a warm body and shoved his hands forwards, out of instinct, into their center mass. A woman dressed like the teen girl upstairs let out an angry shriek as she fell back, her heel catching on the ‘Don’t forget to wipe your paws!’ rug and sending her sprawling onto the concrete walkway. Also on instinct, because adrenaline and instinct were all he had left in him at this point, Ethan began to apologize and almost reached his hand out to help her up before realizing that she’d most likely just given away his position. 

“Mom?” A voice called out from the house behind him and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. The woman groaned low, in pain, starting to sit up from where she’d fallen and her awful shoes confirmed what he already knew.  _ There’s another one _ . Because of course there fucking was.

He took off like a rocket, jumping over the lady, then the small flower bushes-because he knew how hard Mrs. Wendell worked to keep her garden immaculate. The chill in the air didn’t have any effect on his bare arms and the pain from his earlier injuries were a distant memory. All he felt was fear-fear and anxiety, the push to run faster, to never stop. When he’d almost reached home, he glanced behind him, squinting, trying to see if he was being followed or if they were watching. Nothing. They were a few houses down and it was dark, but there was no sign of movement or the lady he’d pushed. 

They had decent door locks and bars on their windows so Ethan honestly wasn’t expecting to get in. He’d hoped that Mark would’ve been watching the outside cameras and taken mercy on his idiot soul, but the last thing he ever would’ve guessed was that only the bottom lock was locked-not even the deadbolt was in place. He ducked into a dark house, the only light coming from the oven in the kitchen. 

“Mark?” He called out cautiously, locking the door behind him, going as far as to drag a chair from the kitchen and shove it under the door knob. Hopefully it worked as good in real life as it did in the movies. Mark’s shoes were gone, along with the keys he hung by the door (Ethan’s idea, because Mark would just throw his shit down, wherever he pleased, the second he got home and Ethan got tired of having to help him find them). Had his friend actually gone out to look for him? His mind flashed back to last year when Mark was laid up in a hospital bed and he didn’t know that he could feel any more guilty than he already had. 

Walking into the kitchen, he found his phone on the counter by the oven instead of by the sink where he’d jumped up earlier. There was a sticky note tacked to the front that simply stated, ‘CALL ME’, in Mark’s messy scrawl and he had over ten text messages, as well as an immense amount of missed calls.  _ I scared him _ . He thought, biting his lip as he unlocked his home screen and pulled up his contacts.  _ God, I fucking suck _ . 

It was in the middle of the fourth ring when his friend answered with a frantic,  _ “Hello? Ethan?”  _

“Mark.” He couldn’t help it.  _ Pathetic, weak, sensitive _ . He sobbed into the phone and leaned back against the counter for support. “Mark, are you…” His breathing was too fast, another hiccuped sob breaking through the sentence-shaking so bad that he had to grip his cell phone with both hands. “Are you okay? You left the house.”

_ “You goddamn  _ **_idiot_ ** _! Yes, I’m fine, I’m driving around with the guys looking for you! Are you okay? Where the  _ **_hell_ ** _ have you been?” _

“I’m sorry, Mark, I tried-” He froze-cutting himself off mid sentence, covering his mouth as he stared at the front door. There was nothing for a second-just Mark saying his name, asking him what was wrong-then the door knob turned slowly. It stopped again-blood pounding in his eardrums as watched on helplessly-before someone began pounding on the door. 

_ “Ethan, what is that? What’s happening?”  _

Backing up to the pantry, he slowly opened the door and got in, crouching down beside a large sack of potatoes going bad. “Mark, don’t come home, okay? They followed me back.” He whispered, cupping his hand over the receiver. Breaking glass, the loud, shattering sound of their windows getting smashed. They couldn’t get in that way, but they seemed like the type of people to probably just do it for fun or to scare him.  _ Joke’s on them. I was already scared shitless.  _

_ “Who did? Ethan  _ **_please_ ** _ , tell me what’s going on.” _

“Stay with your friends.” His sobbing had slowed down, a few fat tears running down his face as he sat in the dark waiting to get caught. “I’m sorry. I fucked up, I’m so sorry.”  _ Useless. He’s better off without you _ . “I should’ve listened to you, as usual.” There were a few bangs, louder than the rest and more aggressive. The familiar sound of an axe, then they were inside.  _ They were much quicker at that than Mrs. Wendell’s asshole kid _ . Ethan could hear them shoving the chair out of the way, the sound of someone’s heavy boots clomping up the stairs. “I have to go.”

_ “Ethan, look we’re coming to get you”- _

“Don’t.” There were so many things he wanted to say, but he just didn’t have the time. They would be cruel, anyways, and selfish.  _ I love you. You’re my best friend. I’m sorry I couldn’t be the person you needed. _ So he settled with, “Don’t come. Goodbye, Mark.” And then he hung up, hands falling to his lap as he stared down at the dark screen. Mark immediately tried calling back, the picture of the two of them on Halloween the year before popping up. They hadn’t gone out, of course, but they’d bought a shitload of candy, dressed in silly onesies (Ethan’s had been a monkey and he’d forced Mark into a giraffe one, then proceeded to make short jokes all night, despite the fact that he was actually taller than Ethan.) and watched Halloween movies. Nothing gory. Ethan had been afraid to trigger Mark, so he’d picked kiddier films with happy endings. It had been a good night.

The call ended and the picture went dark before starting up again.

“ _ Oh beautiful, for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain _ .” Someone started to sing as they walked through the kitchen, growing closer and closer to his hiding spot. He knew who it was-he would forever remember that voice for as long as he lived, though it probably wouldn’t be for much longer. “ _ For purple mountain majesties, above the fruited plains. _ ” A shadow moved through the slates of the door, and those long-nailed fingers taped and scraped along the wall. “ _ America, America, God shed his grace on me… _ ”  _ It’s on ‘Thee’, you dumb bitch _ . Ethan squeezed his eyes shut, gripping his still vibrating phone close to his chest. Maybe everyone deserved to die if this was what America _ the beautiful  _ did with any sort of given freedom. 

His time had come. The pantry door was thrown open and there she stood in her childish, white dress and ridiculous crocs, long kitchen knife raised up by her head as she stared down at him with mirthful eyes. “Daddy and Mommy were pretty pissed that you ran off, Ethan. I was trying to get them to initiate you into the family, but you ruined that.”

_ Enough _ . “ _ Fuck _ you!” He snapped and lunged towards her, shoulder knocking into her stomach and punching the breath out of her. Feeling a sick sort of satisfaction at the sound of her head hitting the counter on the way down, he didn’t notice that there was another person in the room until a sharp, deep ache struck him. He twisted around, reaching back to clutch at his throbbing, hot shoulder only to find the end of a knife sticking out of it. He’d been stabbed. 

The woman he’d ran into earlier-the person who the girl had called  _ Mommy- _ was standing over him, the mask setting on top of her head like a deranged hat as she snarled. “Stop fighting! You  _ deserve  _ to die! Look at what you’ve done!” The girl’s mask had been knocked off to reveal a deceivingly-innocent, young face with sparkly lipgloss and acne spots. Her eyes were closed and a shocking amount of blood was steadily pooling around her head, soaking into the back of her dress. “You’re a fucking monster!”

Gripping his bleeding shoulder and witnessing the scene before him, yeah. Maybe he did deserve to die. Not even a third of this night was over and he’d already nearly killed one person, probably killed this one, and could possibly-indirectly-cause two others to die. It may be a little presumptuous to say, but if Mrs. Wendell or Mark got hurt or died, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. So, yes, he very well could deserve to die. But it wouldn’t be to this bitch. 

She grabbed another knife from the cutlery block, nearly knocking it over as she stalked towards him. Reaching up, the pain of ripping the blade from his shoulder was numbed by the overwhelming feeling of resignation-tired, sad, resignation. The part of his mind currently screaming that it didn’t want to stab this woman was drowned out. She swiped out and he didn’t bother to dodge, the blade slicing along his chest. He reached out and grabbed it, catching her off guard and ignoring the sling of blood as she tried to rip it from his grasp. It was almost too easy, her panic making her clumsy, and he pressed the tip of the knife to her chest-right above her heart-before pushing it into the hilt. 

Her eyes were wide, shocked as they stared into his own and he watched them go dull. He wondered if his own eyes looked like that. Watching her body crumble onto his kitchen floor like he was watching someone else. Like he wasn’t even there.  _ This is fine. I don’t have to be here _ . So, he let himself drift, feeling heavy and suddenly so slow as he sat carelessly down onto the bloody floor. 

There was pain everywhere, dullened but not dead and he glanced down to see that he still held two, blood-soaked knives. He let the one fucking up his palm go. Sometime during the fighting, he’d lost his phone and this time he couldn’t push down his feelings as a disappointed sadness rose through him. What would Mark think of him if he was here? 

“What have you done?” 

He thought he was imagining the voice at first, staring down at his ripped open hand bleeding sluggishly. Then, he realized that the voice didn’t sound like his own self-loathing tone or Mark’s critical one. Ethan looked up. There was a tall man filling the doorway to the kitchen, dressed in an ugly brown suite and holding a familiar axe. He had a dumb Michael Meyer’s mask in the other hand and Ethan snorted outloud at his unoriginality. 

“What’s it look like?” He said, tiredly, leaning his head back against the cabinets. It was like the hole in his shoulder wasn’t just leaking blood, but also everything he was -leaving a haunted, empty shell. He wasn’t Ethan Nestor, anymore-couldn’t be. Ethan wouldn’t have done what he’d done. 

\---

He’d completely forgotten about the phone in his pocket until it started vibrating, startling him out of his concentrated stare out the window. Fishing it out, and glancing at the screen, he almost dropped it in his haste to accept the call. “Hello? Ethan?” Jack’s head snapped around to look at him from the driver’s seat.  _ Please be him. If someone else has his phone, I swear on my life, I’ll _ -

_ “Mark.” _ Definitely Ethan sobbed into the receiver.  _ “Mark are you” _ -Another desperate sound of pain and Mark was digging his short nails into his palm, pressure building up in his chest.  _ “Are you okay? You left the house.” _

_ Explosion _ . The relief and worry and anger exploded out of him and if Ethan was here, he wasn’t sure whether he’d hug or hit him. “You goddamn  _ idiot _ ! Yes, I’m fine, I’m driving around with the guys looking for you! Are you okay? Where the  _ hell  _ have you been?”

_ “I’m sorry, Mark, I tried-” _ He cut himself off, a muffled sound of surprise filling the silence like a gunshot. 

“What? Tried what? Ethan, talk to me, man. Ethan!” Jack pressed down on the accelerator, the car speeding up as he picked up the radio receiver to call Arin and Dan. His friend didn’t answer him, but Mark could hear movement on the other end of the phone. There was a distant, erratic banging-something opening and shutting, Ethan’s panicked breathing. “Ethan, what is that? What’s happening?” 

_ “Mark, don’t come home, okay? They followed me back.”  _ His heart stopped, vision narrowing and tilting as he fought to make sense of what he was hearing.  _ Mark, don’t come home, okay? They followed me back. _ His friend was home, but not safe. Something had already happened to him and that was why he’d been late in the first place. (He’d already known that was the most likely reason why Ethan was late-but he’d hoped.)  _ They followed me back _ . 

“Who did? Ethan  _ please _ , tell me what’s going on.”

_“Stay with your friends.”_ He said quietly and a bitter, guilty feeling rose up in Mark’s chest. _“I’m sorry. I fucked up, I’m so sorry.”_ _God, please stop. This is my fault, this is all my fucking fault._ _“I should’ve listened to you, as usual.”_ There were a few bangs, louder than the rest and more aggressive. _Tell him it’s not his fault!_ But he couldn’t push the words out. There was too much to say about the constant shame and anger that’d been hanging over him like a cloud this last year and how he felt like Ethan had unfairly been left behind because of it. _“I have to go.”_

“Ethan, look we’re coming to get you”-And they were. Arin and Dan confirmed that they were heading over to back them up and Jack was taking corners like a madman. 

_ “Don’t.” _ Ethan interjected, tone nearly emotionless, which Ethan Nestor never was.  _ “Don’t come. Goodbye, Mark.” _ He hung up. 

Mark pulled the phone back from his ear and stared at the screen, grinding his teeth together. He pressed redial and waited. It rang and rang and rang until the voicemail finally came up and an all too familiar (but now he knew for a fact that his friend was in trouble, and all of those panicked voicemails he’d left earlier didn’t seem so paranoid) Ethan said,  _ “Sorry, I missed your call! Text me or something and I’ll call you back soon.” _ He hung up without leaving a message and tried again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll say it until the cows come home, but I do NOT feel any of the feelings towards the boys that I'm writing. All the bad shit they ever think about themselves in my story is just inner monologue that I'm projecting onto them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ^^ Happy New Years everyone. I didn’t get shit done lol. Glad to be back

Mark was out of the car before Jack had even put the vehicle in park, ignoring his friend’s calls to slow down as he raced towards the front door with his newly borrowed gun. The door was fucking  _ wrecked- _ covered in dents and scratches, the doorknob laying on the stoop. He shouldered his way cautiously through it, gun raised as he moved over the threshold into the house. Just hours before, he’d been anxiously making lunch in the kitchen, planning to batten down the hatches and wait it out in the safety of his home.  _ No place is safe _ . It was hard to believe this was the same house-the feeling of danger seeping into him as he glanced towards the stairs. 

There was a noise in the kitchen-the scuff of a shoe, a quiet gasp of air-and he immediately started in that direction, the hauntingly, familiar smell of spilled blood hitting him in the face like a waking nightmare. 

Mark found them there. A large man in an shit-brown suit had a bloodied Ethan by the collar, an axe held to the underside of his jaw. There were two women splayed out on his kitchen floor behind them, unmoving and eerily still, but Mark almost immediately dismissed them for the present situation. He wasn’t the best shot-Arin had taught him a few things and trained with him some-but he didn’t have to be the best for what he was aiming for. Without hesitation-not wanting to give the man a chance to sense his presence and act rashly-Mark fired off a quick shot straight into his backside. He bellowed in pain and dropped Ethan in favor of grabbing the fresh wound, the other hand still keeping hold of the axe as he turned to face Mark with a hateful glare.

Ethan fell boneless to the floor-like a puppet with its strings cut-crumbling into a mess of sticky blood that seemed to cover the entirety of the kitchen. They now officially needed a new house, because the image of his friend laying pale and dead-looking on the red tiles would never leave his brain, he was sure of it. 

The man snarled, raising his axe and limping towards Mark like a maniac. “I have a gun, dipshit.” Mark said, still pointing his weapon at the slowly approaching man.

“You and I both know you can’t take a killing shot. You’re too chickenshit-I can see it in your eyes, boy.” Crazytown replied gruffly, still dragging his ass closer, relentless in his rage. 

_ Shit _ . The man was unfortunately half-right. Mark didn’t  _ want  _ to kill anyone-not ever again. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t if he absolutely had to, though. He was already gearing up to shoot this man in the head-trying not to think of the new nightmares that would come from it.  _ You can do this. He was about to murder Ethan. He’s going to kill you _ . He steeled himself, raising his gun just a bit higher to aim right between the man’s eyes. The man frowned back at him, seemingly confused by something in Mark’s gaze-maybe he saw the determination or perhaps recognized the look of someone who’d killed before. Whatever the case, his hand was steady as his finger began to tighten around the trigger. 

Someone beat him to it. There was a loud pop right next to his ear, startling him, and his head whipped around to see Jack who was suddenly beside him with a cold smile. He’d honestly forgotten that they’d been right on his trail, but now that they were here and the man was falling backwards onto his poor floor with a hole in his eye, Mark felt a heady mixture of relief and disgust.  _ Can’t even get the job done yourself. Good thing your friends were here to do the dirty work for you. _

Pushing the thoughts away, he gave Jack a thankful smile, patting him on the shoulder before hurrying over to where Ethan was still lying. “Jesus, E.” He whispered as he crouched down, resigned to the fact that he was just going to have to deal with ruined jeans. “What the hell happened to you?” His friend was covered in cuts and bruises and blood- _ so much blood _ . His bare arms had deep scratches, blood matting his hair-a dried trail of it leading down his face-and his  _ hand _ . The inside of his palm was- _ mangled _ , for a lack of a better word. 

“He’s lost a lot of blood.” Jack said grimly, kneeling down beside him as he looked Ethan over. “We need to roll him over.” Mark was scared to touch him-to hurt him anymore-but there was a dark patch around his shoulder and no apparent wound there, so it was most likely somewhere on his back. 

“Upstairs is clear!” Felix called out from down the hall. Ross answered with a, “So are the rest of the rooms down here!”

There was that, at least. Three, sick fuckers had broken into his home and hurt Ethan.  _ Why?  _ He knew that a lot of the story was missing but he wasn’t sure how much it even mattered in the long run. They were trying to kill his friend and ultimately, a huge part of him felt that their deaths were justified for that reason alone.  _ You didn’t have to be the one to pull the trigger, asshole _ .

Gently cupping the back of his head to prevent anymore possible brain damage (if Ethan didn’t look so fucking _ hurt, _ there would’ve been some kind of joke there, but at the moment he didn’t feel like he’d ever laugh again), Mark helped Jack slowly turn the unconscious boy over, both of them carefully avoiding the wreckage that was Ethan’s hand. “ _ Fuck _ .” He heard himself say, eyes immediately finding the deep stab wound located on Ethan’s back shoulder, still spilling blood. 

“Yeah, that’s not great.” Jack confirmed absently, pulling off his jacket to get to the shirt underneath. Leaving himself in just a white undershirt, he pressed the clothing to the wound, hard. Hard enough that Ethan let out a soft groan of pain and his eyelids fluttered a little before he quieted once more. 

“Jack? Mark?” They glanced up to see Arin and Dan walking into the kitchen, stowing away their guns when they saw that the danger had already been taken care of. 

“Glad you’re here-I’m working on stopping the bleeding.” 

Dan hurried over, tugging a first aid kit out of his backpack as Mark shifted a little to make room for him beside Ethan. Arin stood guard in the doorway to the kitchen and Mark was fairly certain that the other two were posted closeby, watching the entrances and windows for any trouble. “I don’t have time to do stitches here-the door is too fucked to try and fortify it. Keep applying pressure. Hopefully we can get it to stop.” Dan did quick work of wrapping Ethan’s hand, grimacing and looking a little ill at the torn skin and muscle. “God, what the hell did they do to it? Looks like he put it in a blender.” 

“If I had to guess,” Jack said quietly, lifting the shirt a little to check on the bleed, “I’d say he grabbed the wrong end of a knife and held on.” His eyes flickered over to the counter and Mark followed his gaze. Two, very well-used knives lay on the floor and by the looks of the blood stain on the cabinet, Ethan had been resting his back against it at one point. “Bleedings just about stopped.” 

Tying off Ethan’s hand, Dan moved around to look at the knife wound, bandages already in hand. Mark’s eyes trailed over to the two bodies he’d seen earlier but hadn’t processed. One was a young girl, thick, congealed blood spread out around her head like a halo as she stared up at the ceiling with a permanent look of disbelief. The other was an older woman laying crumpled on her side. The previously-white dresses they both donned looked gorish and without their masks on, they could have passed as innocents. But someone had done this to Ethan and by the looks of it, his friend had done what every good person eventually had to do to survive their nation’s wonderful holiday. 

_ “Maaark, don’t kill it!” _

_ “What the hell do you mean? You asked me to take care of it.” _

_ “It’s just a poor wittle spider, what did he do to deserve death?”  _

_ “You’re joking, right? Fine, you grab it and carry it outside.” _

_ “No way, spiders are gross, dude.” _

This wasn’t fucking fair. 

There was a weak sound, barely noticeable as Dan taped a heavy-duty bandage to Ethan’s back and started to wrap gauze around it with Jack’s help. When Mark’s gaze trailed back around to his friend’s face, Ethan’s eyes were blinking open, squinted up at him in confusion. “Oh my god.” He gasped, bending down lower so Ethan could see him better in the low lighting (they had electricity, sure, but the least amount of light they had pouring out of the windows-announcing their vulnerability-the better, so they were just sticking to the oven light). “Hey, bud.” He said softly, wanting to grit his teeth and rage at just how utterly pale he was, at the obvious signs of violence that he’d endured already tonight. But anger wasn’t a helpful emotion right now. It would be later on in the night, probably, but not right now. Not for Ethan who looked like he was one swift breeze away from death.  _ Shut the hell up, brain.  _

“Mark?” Ethan whispered, so softly that Mark had to lean in even closer. “You came?” Dan finished wrapping the bandage and he let out a groan of pain as it was cinched off, the fingers on his good hand twitching weakly. 

“Of course I did.” Mark replied, catching his friend’s hand in his and trying to smile. Had he done so much damage to their relationship that Ethan had somehow believed he wouldn’t? The thought made his chest hurt, but he shoved that pain away to deal with later. There would be time for dealing with all that after they survived tonight-and they would survive tonight. He’d make damn sure of it. 

“Ethan, we’ve got to get you outside and to one of the vehicles, okay?” Dan said, pulling the shirt back down over his back. “I stopped the bleeding and I’ll check you for a concussion when we’re somewhere not here, but we need to get you moving.” 

“Boys, we’re leaving!” Jack called out to the three keeping watch, standing and moving out of the kitchen. “I’m going to grab him a coat from the closet-you two get him standing and we’ll all meet at the door.” 

Ethan was still staring at him, confused or in pain-both was a strong possibility-so Mark gave him another smile that would hopefully come off as encouraging. “Let’s get you off that nasty floor, huh?” 

\---

It wasn’t until they had him seated in the back of Jack’s van, everyone buckling themselves in after getting him situated, that Ethan remembered Mrs. Wendell. “Wait!” He choked out, struggling to sit up straight. Mark, who was next to him in the back, put a calming hand on his shoulder, looking concerned, while Jack and Felix turned to look at him from the front seats (For the sake of room, Arin had heroically taken one for the team and let Ross ride with him). 

“Hey, it’s alright, man. You’re going to aggravate your wounds.” Mark said, but Ethan couldn’t calm down. The last he’d seen of the old woman, she was unconscious and bleeding and those  _ fuckers  _ had her. 

“Mrs. Wendell! She’s hurt, Mark, please we have to check on her.”

“Mrs. Wendell?” His face was confused for a second, as he processed Ethan’s words, before his eyebrows shot up in realization. “Is that where you were?”

He almost nodded before thinking that it might not be a good idea, right now. “Yeah. I was walking home when I noticed her door was open.” 

Mark’s face was doing something funny that he couldn’t decipher, but without any further questions, he directed Jack to the right house. They pulled up in silence, everyone probably taking in the opened door. He felt his heart sink when he caught sight of the ravaged flower garden-the trampled hedges. The small willow tree his elderly neighbor had planted and meticulously taken care of appeared to have been intentionally chopped down with an axe and now lay on the lawn.  _ Why _ ? Just for the hell of it? 

“Alright. You stay here, okay? Felix, stay with him and I’ll go in with Jack. She knows me, so it’ll be better for her to see a friendly face if she’s conscious and scared.” Ethan opened his mouth to argue, wanting- _ needing _ -to be of some help after everything that had happened, but Mark cut him off with a stern look. “I know. Trust me, E, I know, but you can’t. Just please stay here.” 

He didn’t really have much of a choice when Mark was looking at him like that-saying  _ please _ . Also, he wasn’t really sure that he could even unbuckle his seatbelt on his own, so walking might be a little difficult at the moment. Ethan leaned his head back against the seat with a sigh and that seemed to be the only confirmation his friend needed, because he gave a quiet, ‘ _ thank you’ _ , and gently squeezed his thigh before getting out of the van. 

\---

Jack was at the other van, telling them what the situation was and enlisting the help of one more person. Coming to stand at the front passenger door while he waited, Mark signalled Felix to roll down the window, which he did with an expectant groan. “Is this the part where you give me the threatening speech?” 

Though he didn’t always act like it, Felix was sometimes very insightful. “Well, yes.” He said, clearing his throat and glancing into the back at Ethan, who was laying back with his eyes closed and thankfully, not paying attention. “I mean, kind of? You’re my friend, too, so it’s not a threat”-

“I know, I know. You’ll be back before you know it, dude, but in the meantime, I promise not to let anything happen to him.”

“Thanks, Felix.”

“No problem, momma bear.” He decided not to argue with that one-because it might just be a little true. 

Jack was walking back with Arin in tow, so he gave one last look at his injured friend and gave an affectionate middle finger to the Sweedish asshole up front before falling in line behind the other two. Jack took point, glancing back at the both of them when they’d reached the open mouth of the front door to make sure that everyone’s weapons were drawn-they were. And then they were inside. There was complete and utter silence and they paused inside to listen for any sign of another living thing. Nothing. There was the lingering smell of burnt food and the ticking of a clock, but nothing more. 

“I’ll check down here.” Jack whispered. If his tone had been anything but, it would’ve sounded like a gunshot with how dead quiet the rest of the home was. Mark nearly jumped anyways. “You two check upstairs. Keep your guard up.” 

Both him and Arin gave confirming nods, Mark watching Jack disappear into the living room before following his other friend’s cautious walk upstairs. Stepping lightly on each of the steps to see if they creaked before putting their full weight on them, it was slow going, but they eventually reached the landing.  _ And I thought the downstairs was dark _ . Arin had a flashlight in one of his cargo pants pockets, which he pulled out and switched on. The guest room and hallway bathroom were devoid of people, but the master bedroom was not. Two people sat in the middle of the room tied back-to-back in kitchen chairs-a man and a woman. Mark instantly recognized his elderly neighbor, even though she was faced the opposite way, the purple streaks through her grey hair unmistakable. 

The man was very, obviously dead. He was covered in drying blood, some of it flaking off of his face and neck. Of course, being covered in blood wasn’t always a clear indicator of death on Purge night, but the thick butcher knife buried through the top of his skull was. Giving the man a curious onceover-Ethan hadn’t mentioned a guy-Mark walked around to the otherside to see Mrs. Wendell, crouching in front of her so he could see her face. 

His eyes burned and watered as he took her in, from her matted hair to her disheveled clothes. She’d always taken such pride in her appearance that it hurt to see her like this. But Mark knew without even having to touch her that she was dead. Her cheeks had a gray cast to them and her chest was still. So still. He reached out anyways, pressing his fingers to her neck, holding his hand in front of her mouth. 

“Is she...?” Arin asked softly from where he stood, respectably waiting a few feet away. 

Mark shook his head and got back to his feet, wiping his hand on his shirt to chase away the feeling of her cold skin. The last thing he wanted to do right now was go out and tell Ethan that she was dead. He didn’t know what’d happened here, but the scene in front of him painted a not-so-pretty picture. “Fuck.” 

Before they left the room, Arin helped him free Mrs. Wendell from her binds so they could lay her in a more comfortable position on the bed. She was dead, so Mark wasn’t sure why it was so important to him that they didn’t leave her body tied to the chair-but it was. The delicate skin of her wrists were bruised a mottled blue and he couldn’t look at them, or her lifeless face anymore. They covered her with a baby pink sheet from her bed before Arin led him towards the busted door (there seemed to be an abundance of broken-down doors) with a firm, grounding hand on the shoulder. Jack was there, leaning against the doorframe with a solemn face. 

“I’m sorry, Mark.” He said, meeting his eyes.

“Shit happens, right?” Mark replied, trying to sound like this didn’t ache, like he wasn’t going to think about this for the rest of his life and remember the sweet neighbor who always had time for him. “Find anything downstairs?”

“Another chair with broken zip ties. Most likely where they had Ethan before he got away.” There was an interesting lilt in his voice and what looked like an impressed smile fighting to make its way onto his face. 

Mark didn’t fight his own smile, pride for his friend bubbling up and giving him the strength to continue back down the stairs. “I taught him a few months back how to do that, though I did hope he’d never had to use it.” He hadn’t taught Ethan any of the other stuff-that’d been all him. Ethan probably wouldn’t think highly of the things he’d done tonight, Mark knew that from experience. But his friend was alive. And when the inevitable, long nights of screaming himself awake came, Mark would be there. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter was sufficient! I didn’t read it over nearly as many times as I certainly could have. Please forgive my mistakes and grammatical issues and thank you for reading. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who took the time to read this. I appreciate you.


End file.
